


Omovember 2020 But Make it Layton-Centric

by Anonymous



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Aftercare, Crying, Desperation, Gen, Humiliation, Intoxication, M/M, Multi, Omakyusai, Omorashi, Omovember, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Overworking, Public peeing, Situational Humiliation, Urination, Wetting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:01:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27336841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: The massive collection of PL omo fics no one asked for. An entire month's worth, actually!Following the slightly modified Omovember 2020 list by @omoraashee on Tumblr.
Relationships: Randall Ascot & Henry Ledore, Randall Ascot & Hershel Layton, Randall Ascot & Jean Descole, Randall Ascot/Henry Ledore, Randall Ascot/Hershel Layton
Comments: 8
Kudos: 26
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Formal Situation (Randall & Henry)

**Author's Note:**

> I've never participated in a 30-day writing challenge OR Omovember before. Any prompts I miss will most likely be added later at another time.  
> The list I'm using can be found @omoraashee on Tumblr!
> 
> These fics will contain both wetting (omorashi) and relief-centric (omakyusai) content. Chapters will be named by their corresponding prompt, along with the characters or ship it focuses on. Keep in mind that omorashi is NON SEXUAL unless stated otherwise, which you won't see here. There may be sexual implications, but nothing explicit, and parties involved in said implications will be 18+.
> 
> Please enjoy!

Finding a new suit for Randall after the incident a few months before was no big deal. Henry had a custom one tailored to suit Randall’s physique and swapped from a soft beige to a deep black, and cut the length of the jacket shorter so that no one would accidentally step on it. You see, there was a real fancy party being held at the gallery by Henry to celebrate new arrivals from an esteemed artist. Randall insisted on going, although he hadn’t been inside that building since… well, his last miracle that took place inside.

To be honest, he felt a little out of place. The guests were dressed to the nines in expensive looking dresses and suits, flaunting their wealth through shiny jewelry and speaking with their noses pointed up. Sure, he looked the part, with his new suit, hair combed back and even going as far as leaving his glasses behind before he left. It’s not like there was anyone he knew here, though. Occasionally Angela passed by, chatting away with her guests.

Unwilling to strike up a conversation, Randall slipped away to find the table full of refreshments, which he spent much longer than he should have debating on what he wanted. So he decided to take the time to think by stepping away periodically coming back to eventually sample everything there was to offer.

Of course, this also involved helping himself to several individual glasses of whatever beverages they offered. Most of them were non-alcoholic, to his surprise, and it wasn’t like he wanted to get drunk at such a fancy party anyways. After what he figured was his fourth or fifth glass, a familiar weight began filling in his abdomen.

_ Oh… I have to… _

He glances around, trying to locate the restroom. There’s too many people to see over, and the hallways were actually quite narrow, given that nobody wanted to stand too close to the pieces on display.

_ Whatever. It can wait. _ He sighs, returning to the table to grab a few extra bites and  _ finally _ have a glass of champagne. He noticed Henry nearby, who was completely lost in recounting the tale of the gallery’s initial opening and how it came to showcase so many world-famous pieces.

Sitting down on one of the benches made the pressure inside him a bit harder to ignore. How ironic that each drink he had went through him so quickly. He had kind of hoped he’d be back at the Ledore estate by that time so he could relieve himself in private. It’s not that he was entirely  _ against _ using a public restroom, it was just the fact that there were so many rich and uptight people around, he felt so indecent excusing himself. He fidgets slightly, taking several long looks around him to make sure that no one found his behaviour suspicious.

Time passed, and his need grew. Randall was hesitant to finish the glass of champagne and allow the liquid to add itself to his bladder, but managed to do so regardless. As he stood up to return his glass, there was a tiny bounce in his step. He knew that there’d be no way he could grab himself to hold better in this situation, so he settled on keeping his thighs pressed close together as he walked. Now, he would properly investigate the large building in hopes of finding a restroom he could use. He did eventually locate one, but much to his dismay a line had formed just beyond the door.

_ Uh… Fine. There should be another somewhere. _

He moves up to the next level of the building, which was still full of many guests, and approached the restroom on that floor.

As he expected, there was another line. Randall was starting to panic. He needed to pee, preferably soon. Very soon. He returns downstairs, which was a lot harder to do without jostling his bladder too much. He spotted Angela again, who seemed to be completely unaware of his need (or presence) as she spoke to a group of women about the same age as her.  _ She’s probably flirting with them. _

Could anyone else notice his expression? He tried to look as calm as possible, but his lip was beginning to twitch, and his constantly furrowed brows kind of gave away that there was something bothering him. Whatever. If only he could find Henry…

He passed by the restroom again. The line had not gotten any shorter; there were different faces waiting compared to the first time he checked. Randall winces and sways his hips slightly, fighting back the urge to shove his hand into his pocket and grab himself through his pants. This suit was too damn nice to ruin! Henry would  _ kill _ him if he ended up pissing in it…

“Randall? Oh, there you are.” Speaking of Henry. Randall turns around to face Henry, who was clearly searching for him for a while. “Are you doing alright? Have you been enjoying yourself?”

“Ah… Yes, I have.” He  _ was _ at least speaking the truth on that, although his deeply conflicted look made Henry think otherwise. Looks like the jig was up. “But…”

“But…?” Henry gave him a worried gaze. “Is something wrong?”

Randall leans inward and whispers into his ear, not wanting to be heard by any of the guests nearby. Henry’s eyes widened and he immediately gripped his hand. “Please, come with me! This is unacceptable, my guests not allowing you to…” He huffs, pulling the other man along with him. Randall struggles to keep up, practically skipping along as he fights against his need. Henry dips into a small hallway meant for staff and curators that was completely empty. Randall finally uses this opportunity to grab himself and squeeze tightly. “Henry… Please, I’m… I’m about to burst…!” He whines. Henry doesn’t respond. Randall shuts his eyes tight and desperately tries to think about other things, but it only makes him more and more aware of how full his bladder is. He swears he even feels a drop slide out of him and gasps. Henry stops and looks behind him in horror.

“Are you okay?” He whispers, listening for any telltale signs. The air is mostly silent, with the murmurs of guests far behind them. Randall nods painfully. “Y-Yeah. Yeah. Wh-Where are you taking me, exactly…?”

Henry pulls open a door to their side, guiding Randall in. “This is a staff-only restroom, but you have my permission to use it. This  _ is _ technically your building, after all.”

Randall ignores his comment and rushes over to the urinal, quickly tugging his zipper open and fumbling with his underwear. The loud roar of piss splashing against porcelain, followed by a barely stifled sigh of relief echoed through the room. Henry felt his cheeks heat up as he listened, and tried his best not to watch. It wouldn’t be very becoming of him to show signs of… possible sexual interest in the act playing out before him, now would it?

_ “Hahh… Ahh…” _ Randall groans, really not helping Henry’s case. He shuffles in place, shyly moving his hands in front of him in an inconspicuous way.

A few moments passed, leaving Randall to realize how  _ full _ his bladder truly was. The stream was a nonstop torrent for quite a while, which eventually slowed to a trickle, a few staccato bursts, then stopped. Henry continued to look away, but after hearing the rustling of fabric and a loud flush, he glanced up. His hands hadn’t moved an inch, though. Randall did notice this, and then observed as his blush grew brighter.

“Oh, Henry, you didn’t have to stand guard for me…” He smiles over his shoulder, keeping his focus mainly on washing his hands. Henry’s mouth opens and closes a few times, unable to speak the words that wanted to come out. He eventually darts his tongue between his lips and remains silent, bowing his head slightly as Randall walked past him out of the restroom.

“Thank you  _ so _ much, Henry… I mean it.”

“Y-You’re welcome…” He barely chokes out before straightening up and adjusting his tie. “I do hope the guests won’t be so ignorant next time.”

Henry’s odd reaction went right over Randall’s head. “Yeah, I sure hope so, too. But! That’s not an issue anymore! Come on, I’m sure people are wondering where you went.”

“I… I suppose they are.” He inhales deeply, walking behind Randall back through the narrow hallway.

_ I am REALLY hoping that was just my own embarrassment, and not… arousal.  _ Henry ponders, trying to put past events behind him and resumes a friendly and inviting face as the two return to the party.


	2. Inconvenient Location (Hershel)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hershel attempts to make it home from school, but a more pressing need interrupts his thoughts. Unfortunately for him, the humiliation of going back inside and the amount of people make it rather difficult for him to decide on how to take care of it...

The final bell rings, and the uproar of voices begin as students shuffle to their feet and collect their belongings, ready to return home for the afternoon. Hershel had ended his day by handing in a test to his teacher, having been nose deep in notes and books for the past hour or so beforehand. He’d spent his entire day studying up for this, and barely paid attention to what was going on around him.

...Or himself.

Once again, he was distracted by having a long conversation with Randall about said test, scolding him for not taking it seriously or even studying. Randall simply laughed it off and told him “I’ll be fine. It’s not like I needed to ace this to pass the class or anything!”

Hershel groans and takes his bag in hand, walking with the other boy out of the school.

“Hey, wanna come by later? Not like, immediately, ‘cuz my father is gonna make me do some cleaning and I don’t think he’d appreciate a potential ‘distraction’ around. Maybe around six-ish…?”

“Sounds fine to me,” Hershel replies, stopping to stand just outside the gate. Randall beams, nods, and hurries off, calling back “I’ll see you then!” as he scampered away.

Now alone, Hershel begins his descent down the hill.

Or, he would, if the sudden realization of the fullness of his bladder didn’t just slam him right then and there. He'd needed to go for a while, actually, but didn’t want to get up during the test to go, since he didn’t want to waste any precious time completing it properly. Thinking back, he was actually bouncing his leg quite a bit at his desk, but to anyone else it just looked like deep concentration. No, this was his unconscious response to needing to pee so badly, and now here he was, standing outside the school with a full bladder, unable to go back inside to pee.

He couldn’t go back in. Everyone would watch him, and ask him questions… It wasn’t something he wanted to deal with right now with such an embarrassing situation like this.

It was a long walk to his house from here, too, and he wasn’t quite sure if he would make it. There wasn’t anywhere else really that he could go, either. There was an idea forming in the back of his mind, but the thought disgusted him. He stood there awkwardly, occasionally swaying his hips as he tried to come up with a way to relieve himself before returning home. The longer he waited, the more aware he became, and the more his need grew.

_ There is somewhere I can go, but..! I’m not like Randall. I wouldn’t just… _

He was running out of time, along with options. Biting his tongue, he set off in the opposite direction, past the school and through the marketplace, hoping that no one would attempt to stop and chat with him. Just beyond here there weren’t as many people, or as many buildings, or…

A sharp twinge in his abdomen forces him to stop in place and squeeze his thighs together, his entire body shaking as he fights back the oncoming flood just barely being held back inside him. Thankfully, no one noticed this, or his strained expression, but once the wave passed, he pressed on. This was a much shorter distance, and even though where he was heading wasn’t… the best, there really was nothing else he could do.

Hershel finally passes through the outskirts of town, along the beaten path that would normally lead to the Norwell Wall. There was definitely no one out here. The gate that led up the path, however, was still closed and locked tight, hoping to keep out any possible intruders (or people named Randall Ascot).

It was still too risky to go here. He needed to get over that fence. It really wasn’t that tall, but having to climb over it meant putting himself in great danger of wetting himself, and he was already pretty close to that point. He’d succumbed to darting a hand between his legs (as much as he simply  _ hated _ doing something as filthy as that) and was beginning to do a small dance in front of the gate. 

_ I have no other choice. I can’t wait. I can’t! _ He tells himself, taking a deep breath and approaching the fence as quickly as possible.

Lifting one leg up proved to be detrimental  _ quick. _ He felt a hot gush splash his thigh, mostly absorbed by his underwear. He pulled himself over the fence in a haphazard manner, a few more dribbles escaping him. The hand was shoved back between his legs, squeezing painfully tight as a slight damp sensation crept along his touch. He felt himself leak a little bit more, praying that it wouldn’t be visible on the fabric of his trousers. 

But there was no time to think about that. He made a mad dash for the decrepit old building that lay just beyond the gate, which was supposedly once a shop. Hershel rounded the corner of the structure, finally unseen, and rushed to pull his belt open as soon as possible.

His body was trembling from head to toe. He was struggling to keep holding back his urine as the metal of his belt finally became unlatched and his button was popped open. He barely even pulled his zipper down all the way before tugging his mildly wet briefs down with it, just to speed up the process.

A soft hiss rises up from below, along with the splash of liquid on grass. Hershel sighs quietly, deeply regretting this choice of relieving himself. It was just so…  _ filthy _ to urinate outdoors to him. Randall saw no issue with this, but that was just Randall being, well, Randall. He shuts his eyes tight, a wave of relief washing over as he leaned inward, placing a hand on the wall in front of him. He dared not look at the stream, or think too hard about what it was that he was actually doing. He’d at least set his bag down some distance away, not wanting it to get wet. All he could do was wait until his bladder was fully emptied.

His pee was mostly being absorbed by the earth beneath him, but that didn’t stop it from puddling around the epicenter of the stream and creeping towards his feet. Hershel opened one eye and moved his foot back before his shoe would get wet. That was another thing he most certainly didn’t want. Even if it didn’t damage his shoes, the strong odor of ammonia would cling to them…

A minute or so passed, and the stream had finally dwindled to a trickle before stopping. Hershel let out a deep sigh and stood upright, tucking himself back into his trousers with a bright red blush. Upon slipping his belt back on, he noticed the beginning of a damp stain on his thigh, just barely visible from a distance, but painfully obvious to him.

_ How… Humiliating… _ He grimaces, picking up his bag and discreetly holding it in front of the wet patch. At least now he could climb back over that fence with ease and return home, but now he had to keep his bag in front of him and get rid of this hot, flushed look that would make it clear to passerby as to what conspired just a few seconds ago.

He kept his head low as he walked through the marketplace on his way back, trying not to make eye contact with anyone and trying to look as casual as possible. Once he would get home, he’d immediately rush up to his room and throw on a change of clothes, praying oh-so hard that nothing like this would ever happen again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow, you'll get some ACTUAL wetting content! I know some people like the relief more than the actual act of wetting, but sometimes... I just wanna make characters suffer, y'know?


	3. Sick/Exhauseted (Henry/Randall)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry pushes himself a but too hard and faces the consequences.

_ I need to… begin this paperwork… _ Henry slumps at his desk, a hand on his forehead. He’d been staring at billions of tiny letters and words for what felt like years now. He can’t even remember ever getting up to take a break between tasks. These past few weeks, since Randall’s return, had left him with piles and piles of paperwork, all consisting of complaints regarding the Masked Gentleman’s “performances,” damaged roads, buildings, and stranded tourists after the entirety of the city was broken apart by what could only be summarised as “ancient entities,” and pressing needs to erect new structures on top of what was already planned. The process of rebuilding was moving along relatively well, but this was certainly… not how he expected everything to turn out.

He inhales deeply, and leans forward to glance down at scattered papers before him. The words appeared jumbled and danced across the pages, making it too difficult to figure out what each one said. Plus, it was giving him a headache the longer he tried to comprehend it. In fact, he’d been feeling kind of lightheaded for a while now… His whole body felt heavy, his head hot, and was kind of sleepy now that he thought about it.

And on top of that, being as he couldn’t remember the last time he left this room, he couldn’t remember the last time he got up to pee.

“It can wait…” He mumbles weakly, rising to his feet. Immediately, his entire body shuddered and was barely able to hold its own weight, and Henry nearly collapsed beside his desk. It’s a bit cold in the room. Or was it? Henry felt chills all throughout his body, and his vision was getting somewhat blurry while it tried to adjust to a different image, one not consisting of white and black lines. He wipes an arm across his brow, taking heavy, ragged breaths. Since when did he feel so unwell? This had to be some sort of illusion. He was fine. He rarely ever got sick in the past, so there was no way he was sick now. Not sick enough to be unable to walk, at least.

He stumbles forward, keeping his head low. Each slight movement was making his head throb more, and he had to stop about halfway across the study to catch his breath.

_ I’m not sick. _

As he exited the room, his aches and pains only seemed to grow worse by the second. There was a wave of nausea building up inside him, which he prayed would only be temporary as he pressed on, keeping a hand on the wall to stabilize himself. But it was no use. He could barely see two feet in front of him, and each step only made him want to vomit. He could feel his body slowing down, falling lower and lower to the ground until he was down on one knee, struggling to get back up. He was about ready to pass out at any moment, until he heard a voice behind him:

“Henry? Henry! Are you okay?!”

The sound of rushed footsteps were approaching him. Henry shuts his eyes, too weak to turn his head. A hand reached out and grabbed one of his, lifting him to his feet.

“Ran...dall…?”

“Hey, you don’t look so good… Here, let me help you to your room so you can lie down.”

“But…” Henry struggled to protest. His eyelids were already drooping so low, like he was ready to fall asleep where he was standing. The only reason he wanted to argue was because of the sting in his bladder. He was going to go to the bathroom  _ first, _ then lie down. But Randall already had his priorities in check.

It wasn’t… terrible. Maybe after a quick nap he’d be feeling well enough to go. It’s not like it was the first time he decided to sleep first instead of going off to pee.

Randall carefully led him into his bedroom and helped him lie down, kneeling at the edge of the bed to look at his face more closely. Henry was struggling (and failing) to keep his eyes open, his skin felt hot to the touch, and his entire body trembled weakly.

“You… You’ve been overworking yourself, haven’t you?” Randall’s words echoed around Henry’s mind. He sounded so distant… “Henry…. Please rest for now. I’ll take care of you, okay? Just holler if you need me.”

And with that, Randall was gone. There was a loud buzzing in his head, occupying his thoughts.  _ Overworked…? Me? Never. _ He thought, trying to give in to his weakness and fall asleep. It took several moments, but he finally succeeded, proceeding to have a very uncomfortable but definitely needed nap.

By the time he woke up, he felt worse than before. His eyelids no longer felt as heavy, and his vision wasn’t as strained. He could see Randall staring right at him, raising an ice pack to his forehead. His eyebrows furrowed on contact, but the coolness did help him calm down a bit. Now that he was more aware of the mixed feelings in his body, he quickly remembered his urge from before, except now it had amplified to a painful degree, and the fullness of his bladder seemed to be the most important thing on his mind. His body still felt too weak to move, and he couldn’t even lift his arm high enough to attempt to slide it between his legs. He groans softly, another strong, protesting sting coursing through him.

“What’s wrong?” Randall sounded panicked. His arm had tensed, and he was looking directly into his eyes. “Henry, if you need to get up, please tell me.”

“B…” His voice trailed off and he began biting his lower lip. “Bathroom… Now…  _ Please… _ ”

Randall’s eyes widened. “Of course! L-Let’s hurry.” He says, slowly helping the other man sit up. All the liquid in his bladder shifted, resting heavily in his abdomen. Randall could almost see how much it had swelled over time, and realized that he’d need to move quickly and cautiously, not wanting to jostle him too much. He helped him to his feet, and by allowing him to lean on his shoulder, the two made their way out of the bedroom and into the hall.

Henry was trying so, so hard to hold it long enough until they made it to the bathroom, but his body still felt weak and sluggish. He could feel the first few drops sliding out of him, either clinging to the fabric of his briefs, or torturously sliding down his thigh. His footsteps slowed, which caused Randall to stop in place as a result in worry.

“Henry…?”

It was no use. He was too sick to move anymore. Too sick to keep walking, too sick to keep holding in all the urine inside him. He looked to the redhead slowly, tears welling up in the corners of his eyes.

“R-Randall…!” He let out a choked cry, then dropped his head into Randall’s shoulder. His entire body shudders, then relaxes as a muffled hiss echoes around them. Tilting his head to the side, Randall looks down and watches as a dark, wet stain creeps outward and down the lengths of Henry’s trousers. There’s a distinct pattering noise as the oversaturated fabric allows droplets of pee to fall to the floor, creating a small puddle beneath him. Henry sighs and moans, feeling a weight lifted off of him as he helplessly relieved himself before his dearest friend. There was a sense of euphoric bliss that overwhelmed him, making his entire body relax more and allow the hiss to intensify. Both of his legs were absolutely drenched, and piss was flowing out over his ankles and around their feet.

He wanted to stop.  _ God _ , did he want it to stop. Not only was he humiliating himself in front of Randall, but he was embarrassing  _ himself _ alone. 

_ I’m… Not incompetent! I… I can’t be wetting myself as a full grown adult! This is awful…! _

Randall simply watched and said nothing, waiting until Henry had completely voided his bladder. It wasn’t too much longer, anyways. The noises eventually faded away, and even as the dripping continued, Henry could feel his urine cooling on his legs as the heavy stream slowed. By the time he was completely empty, he was sobbing.

“There, now… It’s okay. It’s okay, Henry…” Randall’s voice was soft and reassuring, and he used his free arm to wrap itself around Henry’s side. “Look, you weren’t feeling well. It happens, okay? Please don’t cry…”

Henry struggled to form a sentence between muffled wails. He knew Randall meant well, but such an event like this was incredibly damaging to his self esteem. Even if it was his fault, he didn’t want to admit that it happened because of his own self-neglect. He simply clung onto Randall’s arm as tight as he could.

“Henry… It’s all right… Let’s get you back in bed with some nice, dry clothes, okay? I’ll clean everything up here. Don’t worry…”

He could have sworn he felt something soft touch the top of his head, but he was too delirious to figure out what it was. It was quick, and warm… and if both arms were wrapped around him…

_ Did… Did he just…? _

He felt a small nudge next, trying to get him to move away from the point of his accident. He quietly obliged, wiping the tears from his eyes.The wet fabric of his trousers stuck to his thighs uncomfortably, but Randall continued reassuring him that he’d help him get changed later. He still felt tired and dizzy, but now that there was one less problem on his mind, perhaps he would be able to rest easier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for not updating on time! Like I said, I've never done a writing challenge before...


	4. Stuck In Traffic (Hershel)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> London's rush hour is truly a nightmare for poor Hershel. And to make things worse, there's work being done on the roads that makes it even slower...

As much as he loved driving, one of Hershel’s main enemies was London traffic. It was always busy in the streets day in and out, but of course, right as he leaves Gressenheller’s campus to return to his flat, it falls right around rush hour.

Ordinarily, this wasn’t much of a problem. He despised traffic along with sketchy drivers, but always kept the thought of arriving at his destination in mind. Except, it seems there was some sort of construction on the main road he took today, and that combined with the usual daily traffic brought all movement down to a crawl.

Hershel sighs quietly, shifting in his seat.  _ About how long is this going to take? Hopefully it won’t be dark by the time I get home. _

A few minutes pass, and he’s only barely inched forward. There are too many cars overhead to see where this construction was, or how far he was from his home. All roads led to “this is going to take a while, so you better get comfortable.”

So he waited.

And waited.

And  _ waited. _

It’s been at least a half hour now, and Hershel is still nowhere near his flat. He sighs again, a bit louder this time, but quickly resumes a calm expression.

_ A true gentleman knows when to demonstrate his most extreme patience. _

Of course, there was really nothing to do in the meantime, besides watch the sun fall lower and lower beyond London’s massive city walls. It wasn’t much, but at least it helped pass the time. Though, in the midst of his boredom, a familiar sensation tingled in his abdomen, one that would turn this entire situation from a long wait into a race against the clock.

He’d expected to be home sooner than this, so he’d helped himself to a full pot of tea right before leaving to put himself in good spirits. However, since he was  _ not _ home at this very moment, the only thing he could think about now was the fact that he now needed to pee. Badly.

Tea was a natural diuretic, yes, but it never concerned him  _ this _ much. He was always able to take care of his need when he needed to, since he was still on campus or in the privacy of his home. Now, he’s sitting in his car, in the middle of traffic, nowhere near either of these places. And of  _ course _ his body decided that  _ now _ he had to pee. Simply brilliant. Hershel prayed that things would get moving soon enough that he could hurry home (while obeying the speed limit, since that’s what a true gentleman does,) before any…  _ problems _ arose. 

He shifts again in his seat, a lot less comfortably this time.

* * *

It’s been at least an hour since he felt the initial urges. Hershel’s moved a significant distance through traffic since then, but he still had a ways to go before he could get home. His fidgeting had increased, but he attempted to keep it subtle, believing that someone could witness his predicament at any given moment. He had to keep his composure. This was hardly anything! He’s survived longer without a restroom before, so what was making it seem so difficult now? Was it the anxiety surrounding getting home in time, or the fact that he was afraid of ruining the seat of his precious automobile…?

His hands flex around the steering wheel, trying to stay focused. Even if he was swaying. A lot.

_ A true gentleman… does not… humiliate himself. Even in the scant privacy of his own vehicle…! _

He lets out a small whine and stares forward, able to creep forward ever so much closer to his destination. He could start to see the construction up ahead. Looks like the street was torn up to fix some underground piping. Nothing unusual for a city like London, but how much of an inconvenience it was to him that it fell on a day like  _ today  _ of all days…

* * *

Another hour, and he’s about ready to lose it.

His patience was more or less gone by this point, and he could barely keep his eyes ahead without squeezing them tightly shut to rock back and forth in the carseat. The leg that wasn’t resting on the gas pedal bounced wildly and impatiently, fighting so hard to keep him distracted long enough and keep moving forward. The construction was fully visible now, and Hershel could see the workers hurrying to move the cars along, away from the deep holes in the ground. 

“I wonder what pipes they’re working on…” He mumbles to himself, trying so, so hard to find something else to think about. But each betraying twinge in his bladder snapped his attention right back to it. Glancing downward, he could barely make out the unusual bulge below his waist, indicating how painfully full he was. Like an overfilled water balloon just waiting to pop--

_ No, no! Don’t think about that! _ He shook his head furiously, bouncing his leg harder. He had to refrain from using one of his hands to help himself hold, since that would be a most  _ ungentlemanly _ thing to do. All he could do was fidget and squirm and bounce, making a silent plea to the heavens that he’d still be able to make it home in time.

There’s a sudden hot warmth across his thigh, which nearly made him jump in shock. He looks down in horror, fortunately unable to see anything on his trousers. Even if he couldn’t see anything, the rapidly cooling sensation was very much there. And it was only going to get worse at the rate things were moving at.

_ Please, PLEASE don’t let it get to that point… _ He whimpers, grinding his crotch into the seat for the tiniest bit of desperately craved, but majorly unhelpful relief.  _ Not in my car. Anything but in my car… _

* * *

The open point past the construction was mere meters away. Hershel couldn’t take it anymore. Even if he got past this point, and was able to drive at a normal speed, there was no way he was going to make it. All he could do was focus on holding back the inevitable flood for who even knew how much longer he had left. Every muscle in his body was either fighting with him or against him, and they were all growing very,  _ very _ tired. He’d given up on bouncing so much and shook violently, desperately attempting to ignore the continued hot bursts of urine that splashed over his thighs and began leaving a dark stain behind.

_ I… will not…! A gentleman… does not…! Not here…! Please, not here…! _

His face was twisted up so tightly, he looked as though he was about to explode into tears (which was another thing a true gentleman wouldn’t do: cry). His body screamed for release, and his ability to hold back was quickly dwindling. The leaks became more and more consistent, with each one being longer than the last. His will to hold on had almost completely failed, yet he did everything to stay determined long enough to finally,  _ finally _ get out of this cursed traffic.

But that determination, like a moth to a flame, would soon be extinguished.

His jaw falls open in a silent moan, and a warm wetness flows freely over his thighs and down his legs. Being seated, his pee would only soak the underside of his trousers and puddle out from around him, and by looking down, he could see the small pool that had formed between his legs. His muscles had completely given out; there was no hope of being able to stop the torrent that had already started. He was pissing so hard at this point that a noticeable stream was flowing out through the ruined fabric, drenching another section of his leg not yet touched amid his voiding.

The noisy hissing mixed with the rumble of the automobile invaded his ears, making him painfully aware of what he was doing.

_ I’m really… urinating… In my own car… _

His cheeks burn hot with pure shame. Even as he finishes, and finally moves on, away from the traffic and construction, he’s left to sit in his humiliation until he arrives at his flat. There’s a disturbing splash as he closes his legs, and he can feel the uncomfortable wetness in his shoes. It didn’t matter anymore. His clothes and car were ruined, and now he would have to exit the car looking like this, leaving his shame visible in two areas instead of one. He’d have to shower as soon as possible, but that only gave the urine more time to soak in and fester… How he’d hate to have anyone notice the stains… Or the odor… 

He’d just have to clean everything as quickly and as thoroughly as possible, and never speak of it again.

As he parked outside his flat, Hershel simply sat in silence for a long, long time. No one was walking around at the moment, and it had gone dark, just as he’d feared. At least it would be relatively easy to get inside without anyone noticing, but as soon as he heard a soft  _ squeak _ as he set his feet outside on the pavement, he shudders.

_ No one can ever know of this. _


	5. Drunk (Desmond)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even an esteemed archaeologist like Desmond is not immune to the effects of alcohol.  
> ...Or the inability to control one's bodily functions while intoxicated...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay! I'll be catching up shortly and uploading the next few chapters in bulk!

“Raymond, would you mind fetching me a glass of wine?”

Off in the distance, the butler nods slowly and slinks away, off to choose an ideal wine from the Bostonius’ cabinet. They weren’t flying to any location in particular, but Desmond wanted some time away from the public, to which he took to the skies to achieve. He kept a variety of wines and spirits on the airship, with some bottles not even opened as of yet. He preferred to save them for special occasions or guests (should he actually  _ allow _ anyone to set foot on his precious aircraft).

A glass was placed in his outstretched hand a few moments later, carefully filled with a dark red wine. Desmond silently takes a sip, flashing Raymond a wide grin as a sign of thanks.

“Would you like me to keep it out for you, Master?” Raymond asks, still holding the bottle. “I’ve got the feeling you’ll be wanting more in the future.”

“Why, yes.” Desmond takes another long sip and drums his fingers along the armrest of his seat. “I would like more, actually.”

“Aye. I’ll put it over here for you.” He sets the glass bottle on the table in front of him carefully, then turns around to get back to navigating the Bostonius. Fully aware of what was bound to happen, Raymond decided that he would pay no mind to his Master until he retired to his chambers for the night. He tended to be a bit… unstable in a drunken state. A bit more difficult to manage, but not something he would outright avoid, no. As a loyal butler, his only desire was to keep his Master safe and happy (or at least… mildly content. Desmond was a bit of a strange one these years).

* * *

Some time passed. Raymond overheard the sound of the wine bottle being picked up and placed back down multiple times. Eventually, more than half of the once-full bottle was gone, and Desmond was still sitting idly, swirling wine around in his glass. His expression was blank, but heat had risen to his cheeks, and his hand movements were a lot less consistent than before. He finishes what’s left inside the glass, then stands up.

“Raymond?” He calls over, the sound of shuffled footsteps approaching. “Just where are we going, again?”

“Nowhere in particular, Master. It is as you requested.”

“Did I now…?” He mumbles, then starts chuckling softly. “Why would I say that? How far are we from London? Can we stop there?”

“Afraid not, Master. I flew us northwest of there, in the direction of Iceland. It’d take hours to turn around and head back.”

Desmond pouts. “So be it.” He spins sluggishly on his heel and returns to his seat, pouring yet another glass of wine for himself.

Much later, the bottle is empty, and Desmond is wandering about the ship, muttering and laughing to himself. He occasionally stumbles over his feet and bumps into a corner on something, but thinks nothing of it.

“Raym’nd! Raaaym… Raymond?” He trips up the stairs to the captain’s seat, then stares out the large window at the night sky before him, just above the clouds. “Oh… S’looking really nice ou’there…”

The butler doesn’t even answer him. Desmond most likely wasn’t listening to him in the first place. He just glances over at the drunk man, fascinated by the sight before him. His expression was unreadable, but the way his eyes darted around… It was only a moment of time before--

“HOW DID YOU GET HERE?!” He shouts, backing away from the window.

_...Before he spots his reflection. _ This was that “unstable” side to him Raymond had to be mindful of. It seemed to be that every time Desmond intoxicated himself, he developed a negative reaction to seeing himself in a mirror or any reflective surface, and of course they both knew why. Raymond quickly arose from the chair and guided his Master back down the stairs before things got noisy.

* * *

He’s back to pacing around the ship, most coherent thoughts numbed and the only feeling recognizable was the warm and fuzzy feeling of alcohol inside him. Though, he could swear he felt something else building up inside him, just not enough to be fully acknowledged. It was faint. Very faint. So obviously, it wasn’t important. Or it didn’t  _ feel _ that important. He slips into a small study of his on board, and sits down, pulling out a small book resting on a shelf above a desk. He had a habit of writing down notes for himself to read once he was sober, and most of the time they were ideas and plans he somehow managed to come up with.

Desmond’s leg is bouncing on impulse, and he can barely hold a pen in his hand while he attempts to write down, or rather, sketch something that manifested in his mind. At some point, he completely stopped and looked down at himself, barely paying attention to his swaying body. He abruptly stood up, his subconscious conveying some sort of important message to him. He slowly walks out, but instead of heading in the right direction, he cluelessly walks back out into the main area, standing behind the couch.

How long had he been walking so funny? Not in a drunk way, but in a way that was more… bouncy? And how long had he been impatiently shifting his weight from one foot to the other? He couldn’t even remember. The faint feeling had grown just a tiny bit stronger, but it was still too miniscule to worry about.

“I say we… We r’turn to Lond’n tomorrow… I want t’be on flat ground.” He says, his words slurring constantly. 

“Aye. Can do that, at least. Are you all right over there, Master? You sound a bit strained.”

“Str… what? What’s that? I’m fine.”

_ Now _ how long had he been pressing his thighs so tightly together? As he became aware of more things he was doing, the more he questioned them. Finally, the answer became clear. And as that answer became clear, it was already too late.

Somehow, Raymond instantly sensed the problem and approached him, quietly taking his hand and starting to lead him out of the room. 

“Where are we… umm…  _ Oh… _ ” Desmond’s voice suddenly became very soft and changed in pitch, and he resisted Raymond’s pulling while a warmer, hotter sensation spread across him. The wetness was one thing, but he was suddenly come over with such a powerful euphoria, most likely enhanced by the alcohol, as he wet himself at full force without being fully aware of it.

“Oh, dear…” Raymond whispers. Looking down at the floor. Desmond’s trousers were hardly absorbing the urine, so it all splashed out around his ankles and created a massive puddle on the floor. Desmond simply started laughing wildly, finding Raymond’s troubled look amusing. He laughs and laughs, still not noticing the pee flooding out from him. Usually, he was a  _ bit _ more sober to get up and use the bathroom on his own, but not this time, unfortunately. And it wasn’t the first time, either. He never remembers what happens when he gets drunk, so Raymond has to move quickly enough to clean up any messes he makes, as well as wash any soiled clothes before he realises what he’d done. 

The butler stands and watches until Desmond finishes, and the drunken man is still none the wiser. He appears to be feeling much better, though, as one would after they’ve relieved themselves.

“You’re going to bed now, Master.” Raymond sighs, taking his hand again. “I’ll set a course for London when you wake up.”

“All right…” Desmond groans, still giggling to himself.

* * *

By morning, it was as Raymond predicted. Desmond remembered nothing, saw nothing, and felt nothing. There was no evidence of his accident left behind, and his clothes were already clean and freshly ironed for him to put on. Really, did anything happen? Besides an obvious round of drinking? After asking, Raymond had simply told him: “You drank an entire bottle of wine, attempted to tell me a few jokes, almost had a fight with your reflection, and then immediately fell asleep.”

“Nothing else?”

“No. Nothing.”

It always sounded a little suspicious, but he preferred not to know the full details anyways. “Did I come up with any new jokes this time?”

“Afraid not. I’ve heard each one before.”

“Ugh… It was an attempt, I suppose. And now we’re heading back to London, because I asked you to?”

“Aye.”

“...Very well. I’m going to go lie down again. I don’t know why I keep telling myself ‘enjoying a drink or two on an airship is a  _ wonderful _ idea, Desmond!'" He groans, sarcastically. 

At least he didn't know the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not my... best work, but I assure you these next few prompts are some of my favorites to write~


	6. Just About "Made It" (Randall)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Randall attempts to test his skills by trying to work with a full bladder. It... works, to an extent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was actually inspired by a convo I had with @omoraashee on Tumblr... heh.

“Randall, this line of thinking is ridiculous. There’s no way it’s going to work.”

Randall takes another long sip of water, then slams the bottle down with a sparkle in his eyes. “Hersh, please! They say that you’re more focused when you have to pee. If I can get some of that focus through the upcoming test, I’ll be golden! Whoops, no pun intended.”

Hershel shakes his head and sighs. “I think you’ll be too focused on how badly you need to go instead of this test. I’m not saying you’re going to regret making this decision, but--”

“No risk, no glory!”

“...Right. Anyways. How much have you even been drinking throughout the day? Too much water can be bad for you, actually.”

Randall shakes the half-emptied bottle and pauses to think. “Um… This makes two… and a half, I think? To be honest, I wish I settled for juice. Water gets so damn  _ bland _ after a while.” He sticks his tongue out in disappointment, becoming aware of the first signs of his bladder reaching its maximum capacity. “I think I’ll pull through just fine. Stop worrying so much about me, okay?”

"Whatever you say, Randall.” Hershel rises to his feet seconds before the next bell rang, signalling that their lunch period was over. “You know, you could always just study like a normal person.”

“Me? Normal? Hershel, don’t make me laugh.” The redhead began cackling anyways. “I hate studying! You, of all people, know this quite well! Besides, you’re better at telling me what’s on your notes and letting me copy them down for homework…”

As the two walked down the halls and chatted about the upcoming test, Randall nearly broke away to make a mad dash for the bathroom. However, to prove his friend wrong, he would avoid dealing with his need right away and allow it to grow and intensify, just so he could work more efficiently. This  _ had _ to work, right? Worse came to worse, he’d just have to excuse himself and come back as soon as possible. It wasn’t that big of a deal. He was pretty experienced at holding at this point, either through timing himself or having to deal with Henry cleaning at the most inconvenient times. Still, he preferred to go right away… Oh well. Not this time!

As he sat down at his desk behind Hershel, a distinct weight settled itself down in his gut, too.

_ That fast? _

Randall took a deep breath, which got Hershel to glance over his shoulder and give him a concerned look, but he only smiled and gave a thumbs-up in response.

_ I’ll be fine. This’ll be easy. _

* * *

Halfway through the test, he felt ready to burst. To try and not draw attention to himself, he folded one leg over the other and squeezed as tight as he could, and in between changing the order of his legs, he would discreetly grind down into his seat to ease a tiny bit of pressure. Hershel was fully aware of what he was doing, despite not looking, and almost wanted to leap up from his seat and drag the boy off. He swore he’d be fine, though, so there was no saving him from this predicament.

Unfortunately, it did seem as though Hershel was right: He could hardly focus on the test before him. He was too busy thinking about when it would be over, and when he could finally get up to go--

“A reminder to my class that no one will be leaving this room until the bell rings,” the teacher’s voice called out, which filled Randall with a deep, cold dread.

_ I have to survive… until AFTER class?! _

He gulps, which caused Hershel to tense up before him, then relax. He was just about done, anyways, despite hardly being able to take the time and think about each question before a more pressing matter invaded his thoughts. Randall quickly rose to his feet, grabbing his papers and bringing them up to the front of the classroom. His steps were light and a bit bouncy, but no one paid any attention to him. Not even the teacher as he set the papers down in a neat stack on the desk. When he returned to his seat, Hershel had looked up at him and mouthed a concerned “are you all right?”

Randall nods, seating himself once again. The pressure from his full bladder was almost unbearable at this point, and all he could really do was fidget in his seat and carefully slip a hand between his tightly clamped thighs to help himself hold longer.

He kept his head down, gripping himself tighter and tighter as time passed. Perhaps he even broke out into a cold sweat from how intense his focus was. The last thing he wanted was to have an accident in school, in front of everyone, and the longer he focused on keeping the floodgates sealed, the longer he would last. But it was  _ really _ starting to get difficult. He could feel tiny drops beginning to leak out against his will, and his entire body was shaking so violently, he  _ swore _ someone had to have noticed. But no, he was still safe, and none were the wiser. Still, he had to press on. Randall bit his lip impatiently and tried to shut out any outside distractions that could potentially ruin everything for him.

* * *

At last, the final bell rings, and the students around him rise from their chairs and begin happily chattering amongst themselves, following the teacher out of the classroom.

The only ones who stayed behind were Randall and Hershel. 

Hershel watched as his friend, now in private, let out a soft whimper and rocked against his hand desperately, both his legs bouncing up and down at uneven paces. His face was strained, like he was about to start crying, and he was too scared to stand up. Sitting down was the only hope he had at this point.

“Randall, we need to get you out of here!” Hershel exclaims, reaching for the boy’s free hand. Randall hesitates when he feels him tugging. “Come on! You’re going to- I won’t let you do that here! Please…!” 

Regrettably, he rises to his feet, the grip on his trousers tighter than ever. Hershel can see how white his knuckles have turned, and can only assume how much he’s probably leaked from standing up alone. He can barely make out a dark stain behind his hand, but it wasn’t noticeable to others. Randall shudders hard, and Hershel freezes up, listening for a telltale hissing sound, but only hears a painful sigh. “H-Hurry… Hurry….” He whispers, and without another word, Hershel takes off with Randall’s hand in his, rushing out of the classroom and down the hall. Thankfully, they were mostly empty, and no one bothered to look up from what they were doing to see two boys sprint by. 

Randall feels another warning spurt dampen his hand more, the rapid movement making it nearly impossible to fight back. But just as he was about to give in, Hershel veered a corner, and suddenly they were inside the boys’ bathroom. Breaking free from his grasp, Randall used his other hand to hold himself desperately tight as he rushed into a stall, not even bothering to close the door behind him (so Hershel used his foot to hold it shut). After the sound of his belt unlatching and the furious rustling of fabric was heard along with a soft “no, no,  _ please  _ no…!” Hershel’s cheeks would burn a bright red as he heard the defining splash of liquid against liquid followed by loud, suggestive groans. 

He tried to tune out the noise, but it was deafening. Randall was pissing at full force, having left himself desperate for much too long and finally getting the relief he craved. The noises emanating from his mouth didn’t stop, either, which only made Hershel want to flee the room in embarrassment. It certainly didn’t help that he had the tiniest inkling of affection for the boy, and this situation, as close to intimate as it was, was making it worse.

It wasn’t until a full two minutes had passed when the stream finally died down to a few short bursts, and the only noise Hershel heard was the sound of Randall’s laboured breaths.

“Are you… Are you okay, Randall…?” He asks shyly, too nervous to open the door.

“Y-Yeah… Yeah. Never better,” Randall replies from within, rattling his belt. “I… I suppose you were right, after all… Damn it, I hate being wrong…!”

“It’s okay. Really. I was more concerned that you would end up rushing through everything too quickly, but I noticed you did still try to take your time. How do you think you did?”

“Actually, I think I might have done better than I usually would. Perhaps this wasn’t a total failure after all?” He suggests, falling silent to flush the toilet and exit the stall. He offered Hershel an exhausted grin, but Hershel’s expression looked to be much more concerned than before. Looking down, Randall noticed a large stain had formed on his trousers, a sign of his close call. He had no idea what to do. He couldn’t just… walk home like this. He had already started removing his jacket to tie around his waist, but Hershel came up with another plan. 

“Here, why don’t you… Splash some water from the sink on you, like this, and now it looks like you’ve spilled water on yourself. Plus, I think it’s supposed to rain soon, so maybe if we time it right, we can blame it on the rain, okay?”

“Ah… Thanks, Hersh… Well, I know one thing’s for sure: I am NEVER trying this again! Nope! No siree!” He scoffs, secretly admiring how far ahead his best friend had thought. “I just wanna go home. Maybe to your home…? I’m sure you can get my stuff washed sooner, rather than having to give my clothes to Henry… I don’t know why, but he tends to act really strange whenever I get up to go to the bathroom. Do you have any ideas as to why that could be?”

“I haven’t the foggiest of ideas,” Hershel mumbles, walking out of the bathroom. “Maybe he’s just being modest.”

“Modest…? Perhaps.” Randall doesn’t sound convinced, but shrugs it off for the time being as they finally left the school. His crisis was mostly averted, but there was still a cost, unfortunately. But he’d be damned to say that it didn’t feel  _ amazing _ to finally let go… Maybe he could practice this more at home… and preferably not in a school setting.


	7. Outdoors (Randall/Hershel)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Randall brings Hershel out on yet another one of his expeditions, and as much as he enjoys spending time with his friend, Hershel doesn't have the confidence to deal with his... predicament.

Hershel Layton was never really one to stay outdoors for too long. While he enjoyed the fresh air and found the peacefulness of nature calming, he didn’t like to be out for too long, too far away from home.

Of course, this all changed when Randall entered his life. The boy dragged him out all over town just about every day, usually to go on one of his many “adventures” through the forest and beyond the cliffs.

He’d barely finished the tea Henry prepared for them upon his arrival when Randall shot to his feet and announced he was going to go out to explore, and roughly grabbed Hershel by the arm to pull him close to the window.

“Fine, fine! Okay- Stop pulling!” Hershel grunts, climbing onto the bed as the redhead pushes open the window before them. “Um… How long do you plan to be out for?”

“Who knows? Who cares? Why does it matter, Hershel?” Randall laughs, throwing a few tools into his bag and pulling it over his shoulders. He came back to the window and turned around, sticking one leg out and finding his footing on the vines that grew up the wall. “There’s still light, so we don’t have to worry about not being able to see or anything.”

Hershel sighs and scratches the back of his head.  _ Right. _ It’s not like there was a worrying thought in his mind or anything that popped up at this sudden change of plans. That tea was going to work through him sooner or later, and if he was still outside at that point… Well, hopefully that wouldn’t happen. Maybe they’d be close by, and they could get back inside just in time…

“Let’s  _ go _ already!” Randall whines, helping Hershel down the wall. The two safely make it to the ground, and right as Hershel went to adjust his vest, Randall was already pulling him out into the woods behind his house.  _ See? We aren’t going far. He probably has a favorite dig site or somewhere nearby… For sure. _

Randall pulled out a compass from one of his many pockets on his bag and looked around, establishing a sense of direction. “So we’re facing northwest…” He mutters, moving along without further hesitation. Hershel follows, still unsure of where they were going.

Some time passes, and after passing by so many trees and shrubs and other miscellaneous “forest-y” stuff, Hershel forgot why he was even out here in the first place. Randall hopped across a few rocks while Hershel stayed on flat ground, and eventually they came to a clearing that had notably been visited once before. The ground was loose, and uneven in certain places. Randall probably dug here a few times in the past. This would make for a good landmark, that is, is Hershel knew exactly where they were. Moving past the clearing, he heard the distant babbling of a stream. Such a serene noise that he would find pleasant to study to, but it quickly brought his mind back to the helpings of tea he had earlier. He could feel the first signs of needing to go, but it was nothing major. He preferred to wait a bit to truly assess his need. It was an act of… modesty, he assumed. In case someone else was more desperate than him. Except they were outside, with no usable bathroom in sight.

Hershel winces.

“Ah, here we are!” Randall exclaims loudly, pointing to a marshy looking area in front of them. “I’ve been meaning to search this area for ages. It’s right when it’s not too terribly muddy, too. And there won’t be a lot of bugs. It’s perfect!”

Hershel stops before the wet ground, the thought of getting his shoes dirty disturbing him. “I’ll just… Watch from over here,” he says, walking backwards to a large, mossy rock and taking a seat on it. “You’re more suited for these types of things than I am.”

“Not a problem, Hersh! Not a problem. I’m just happy to have you here with me!” Randall beams, setting his bag down and removing a few tools to carry with him. He also grabbed a long, broken branch at some point and planned to poke and prod at the watery earth with it. His words were… so oddly sweet to Hershel’s ears… It was like he was unintentionally trying to charm him. Well, to be fair, he was finding himself easily charmed by anything that came out of Randall’s mouth. His voice, his enthusiasm… It was all so… cute…

_ Ah! What am I doing? _ Hershel shook his head furiously and watched Randall closely, admiring the cautious steps he took over a broken log and crouching on top of it. There was something amusing about the way he stared so deeply into the murky water, almost expecting to see something pop out of it at his face…

* * *

After trying to occupy himself by wandering around, drawing lines and squiggles in the dirt with a stick he found, Hershel could no longer ignore the fullness of his bladder. He used the rock he was sitting on to help himself hold, straddling it in a subtle way that didn’t scream “I need to pee” every time Randall looked up to see what he was doing. Still, he fidgeted and squirmed uncomfortably, eventually deciding that staying on his feet was the best thing to do.

Randall happened to notice him lightly swaying his hips, though, and finally spoke up.

“Hey, Hersh! You okay?”

_ He saw?! _

“Y-Yes, I’m fine,” he calls back, trying to steady himself to little avail. Not moving his hips meant trembling like a leaf in the wind, which was no less subtle than before.

“Are you sure? You’re acting weird…”

Taking a nervous breath, Hershel decided to tell him the truth. He had some hesitation, as the impurity of his words would burn on his tongue and put him in a rather impolite light. “I… Well, I, er… I need to use the toilet.”

Randall adjusts his glasses, giving the other boy a dumbfounded look as he processes his words, then bursts into laughter. “Is that all? Hah, Hershel, we’re literally  _ outside. _ You can go wherever you want! No one’s looking!”

...That was the problem, though. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. Unlike Randall, who saw no issue urinating on the nearest tree, Hershel simply lacked the confidence. He didn’t have confidence in any open area, actually. He was able to relieve himself in the privacy of a familiar household bathroom with no problem, but outdoors, and even at school… He had a bit of difficulty. He opted to go whenever the halls were silent, and no one would come in, or would wait until he got home to go. It wasn’t a choice, really. Even if he were to attempt to go now, surely…

“O-Oh. Right. Um. I’ll be right back then.” He stutters without thinking.  _ What am I saying?! I can’t go… I won’t be able to… _

“Okay! I’ll be right here when you get back.” Randall directs his attention to the marsh again, leaving Hershel alone with his thoughts, and the promise of leaving to go take care of his business. He unconsciously turns around and slips away, far enough so that Randall couldn’t see him, and stares at a large tree in front of his feet.

_ Maybe this time… I can do this. _

He calmly unfastens his belt and pops open the button on his trousers, trying to imagine himself at home in front of a normal toilet. He still shudders once he feels cool air, but keeps a clear mind.

...There’s silence. No definitive hissing, no strong feelings of relief, nothing.  _ It’s not working. I need to go home… Or at least back to Randall’s house. But I have no idea where I am, and it’s obviously pretty far… Ugh, I’m sure to get lost without his help! _

Hershel stands still for a few moments longer, still feeling nothing. It’s no use. His shy bladder wasn’t about to let him go, and he was still uncomfortably full. Sighing in defeat, he tucks himself back into his trousers and slips his belt back around his waist. 

_ If I make it look like I went, then… _ He still swayed helplessly. There was a protesting sting in his abdomen, punishing him for not taking the opportunity to go when he could.  _ It’s not like I can! I want to… I need to… But I just… can’t! _

He could almost feel his urine sloshing around inside him as he walked back, trying not to hop around too much or bend his body at weird angles when Randall came into view. He seated himself firmly on the rock and watched, rocking his hips back and forth when the redhead wasn’t looking.

“Back so soon? You’re awfully quick.” Randall giggles, flinging a lily pad into the air. He didn’t even realise it wasn’t that long since he initially left. That wasn’t going to be believable at all…

“Uh, yeah. P-Please don’t talk about it…” Hershel murmurs, a bit embarrassed. “Have you found anything?”

“No... Just mud, mud, and more mud. It’s been pretty uneventful.”

“So… Will you be finishing up soon?” There was another strong pulse in his bladder, nearly causing him to give in and shove a hand between his legs. “I’m not even sure what time it is.”

“Mm… Probably. I dunno. Why the rush?” Randall splashes around impatiently, hoping his chaotic movements will make something bubble to the surface. To Hershel, however, this just made him even more painfully aware of the fact that he didn’t empty his bladder like he said he would and was sitting here, suffering away, hoping that things wouldn’t get worse than they already were.

“No rush. Just curious.” He barely says with a straight face, hiding the quivering tone in his voice. Randall shrugs and goes back to poking and digging up anything that looks suspicious.

* * *

The sun is starting to set, and Hershel can’t stop shaking. His bladder was at its maximum capacity, and his whole body ached from holding for so long. He could definitely agree that he’d never needed to pee this badly in his life, and the humiliating fact that he  _ could _ just get up and go made everything worse. Even if he got up again, Randall would be suspicious. He’d catch on quick, knowing that he didn’t actually go the first time, but now it was dead obvious how desperate he was, bouncing and crossing his legs wildly. At least in the darkness that was slowly falling over the forest, Randall could no longer pay attention to what he was doing.

“Ah, I give up! There’s nothing here.” He groans, throwing the branch into the distance. There’s a loud splash that echoes through Hershel’s head, making him lose focus long enough to allow a short, hot burst of urine to dampen his thigh. “Let’s go back.”

As his footsteps drew near, Hershel leapt to his feet and straightened himself up as best he could, trying to look presentable to his best friend. Randall was none the wiser, and gestured for him to follow behind back the way they came.

Every step felt like hell on Earth. His bladder screamed in his ears, desperate for relief and threatening more than a few leaks the more he moved. He let out a high-pitched whine, balling his hands into tight fists to channel the urge to grab himself elsewhere.

“What was that?” Randall asks, not turning around. “Hersh, was that you?”

“N-No… Must’ve been an animal of some sort.” His response is quick and anxious, praying that he wouldn’t turn around. Fortunately, he didn’t. He was staring at his compass again, following a mental map that only he possessed and Hershel couldn’t see. 

His head was spinning. There was no way he could focus on holding back the inevitable flood and walk at the same time, and he cursed himself and his own bladder shyness for being in this predicament. His nerves were alight, and there was heat rising to his cheeks, but he had to keep going. Maybe the house was close by… Maybe, just maybe, he could still get inside without any problems, and…

_ No! No, It’s not going to happen! I can’t… _

“I can’t…!” Hershel’s thoughts moved to his lips, and words were coming out against his will. When Randall stopped to turn around, Hershel reached out and gripped his arm, shaking from head to toe. He shuts his eyes tight, and feels his body start to relax.

“Can’t… huh?” Randall cocks his head to the side, trying to finish the sentence. He was soon interrupted by a shaky sigh and a loud hiss, causing his eyes to drift down between Hershel’s legs where a large, wet stain was rapidly growing. “Oh, Hershel…” He whispers, observing the slightest bit of steam emanate off the boy’s trousers as he pissed helplessly through the thin fabric.

“I-I’m… s-sorry…” Hershel chokes out, gripping Randall’s arm tighter. Warmth and euphoria spreads across him, his body pleased to finally have relief, but the rest of him horrified that this was how he chose to do it. He’s wetting himself like a child, in front of his best friend ( _ and crush _ ) and can’t even stop! It’s embarrassing! Humiliating! He wanted to be struck dead on the spot, but at least not until his bladder was empty…

“It’s… It’s okay, Hersh.” Randall’s voice dropped down low, like he was trying to comfort him. “It’s okay.”

Once he’d finally finished, the entire front and backside of his trousers were ruined, and he could feel a gross wetness in his shoes, too. Unsure of what to do, Hershel started to sob uncontrollably. Randall pulled him in for a gentle embrace, being careful as to not touch any wet parts of him, and let the softness of Hershel’s hair cover his face as he buried his head in the side of his neck. 

“You didn’t go when you said you were going to… Agh, I should’ve realised that sooner. You have a shy bladder, don’t you? If only had I been more considerate....”

“It’s not…” Hershel sputters between hoarse cries. “It’s n-not your fault…”

“Maybe so, but look what’s happened because of my own negligence! I’m sorry, Hershel… Really, I am…” He hugged him tighter, his breaths hitching in Hershel’s ear. “Tell you what. If we slip around the house and head in the direction of Memory Knoll, how about you pretend to ‘trip’ and fall into the stream? That way… It’ll look authentic… And no one will have to know. I promise to not tell a soul of this. And I promise to be more aware of you next time we go out, okay?”

How considerate…! Hershel couldn’t find the words to agree and thank him, and simply nodded in the crook of his neck. The fact that he was willing to go to these lengths… To protect him… To take care of him… Ah, it was too much…! If it weren’t for his sopping wet trousers, he’d almost want to… want to…

“C’mon, let’s go.” Randall pulls away, a soft look in his eyes. Hershel wipes the remainder of his tears from his eyes and nods, allowing the boy to take him by the hand and slowly lead him through the rest of the forest. For some reason, holding his hand like this felt less like he was being pulled along and more…. Affectionate? Surely this was a coincidence, but it was nice to have some comfort as he tried to swallow his shame in front of him...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know "shy bladder" is a prompt for a later day, but it's just such a cute concept for Hershel... I love it...


End file.
